


Until the End of Everything

by hivers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Multi, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hivers/pseuds/hivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Stiles is pretty sure that falling in love with a guy based on his abilities to shoot down the undead might be morally wrong, but fuck if he cares anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, first of all no one is a werewolf in this fic, and no one ever has been. Second of all I would like to dedicate this to Malin, who gave me the prompt.

_You know those small moments that you sometimes have when you look at a person and just realize that you kinda love them? That short second that comes randomly every once in a while that just fills you with affection, be it platonic or not? Well, there are those moments, and then there's seeing Derek Hale make his way through a small horde of zombies armed with nothing but a dagger, and Derek Hale standing over a heap of cold, dead bodies with blood and god knows what else up to his elbows. Stiles was pretty sure he'd never seen anything awesomer. He was also pretty sure that Derek Hale had now proved to be more than just Scott's sour-faced drug-dealer, and for that Stiles was oddly glad._  


     It had all started the way everyone had always said it would. Unknown chemical consumed by some poor bastard; bastard gets sick, passes it onto others, and the virus spreads. And spreads. And spreads.  
     The whole transition from everyday suburban life to apocalyptic wasteland had taken less than a year, and the topmost concern on Stiles' worry-list of problems had gone from ' _my best friend is using illegal drugs to get to play first line on the lacrosse team_ ' to ' _everyone I ever knew is either dead or a flesh-eating, rotting, rabid monster_ '. The fuckin' end of the entire human race didn't stop for anything, though, and Stiles had to pull through. He pulled through all of it. Losing his dad while he was on the job, trying to save people from the walking stiffs, was the worst though - the rest he could deal with. He couldn't allow himself to be sad. Sad meant weak, so he pushed it all down, ignoring it. Scott had lost his mother, too - though when Stiles thought about it, he figured both Melissa and his own dad were probably bound to die at some point. His dad was the sheriff, and his job was to protect the people, and Scott's mom was a nurse, having to deal with people who were brought sick to the hospital all the time. It was only a matter of time before someone bit or attacked either of them. Stiles had been living with her and Scott after his father's death, but when Melissa was gone too, there hadn't been much left for the two of them.  
     Scott opted they'd stay in his house, but Stiles, having prepared for this kind of thing since the first time he'd seen a zombie movie, convinced him that it'd be better for them to leave, and they both went looking for somewhere less exposed. It was pure happenstance that they'd run into Scott's old drug dealer, Derek, and that he happened to own his old house that lay abandoned in the middle of the Beacon Hills forest. They joined forces, and it turned out Derek had already formed a small group of survivors that had its base at the house, and as much as Stiles knew the whole situation was tragic and awful, he couldn't help but think it was kinda cool. It was like in the movies.  
     Their arsenal wasn't very big, but in Stiles' opinion it was fairly decent (at least compared to having nothing); they had a couple of small guns that Stiles had gotten from his dad, three cans of Mace, an assorted collection of knives, some boxes of bullets, a baseball bat that Scott had brought, a hunting rifle that was Derek's, and assorted fancy arrowheads, arrows, a bow and a crossbow that belonged to Allison Argent, a girl who moved into town a month before the whole epidemic started, and who Scott had a massive, ridiculous, hopeless crush on. They had two cars; Derek's black Camaro (probably bought with drug money), and Stiles' old blue Jeep.  
     There were seven of them living in the charred remains of the Hale house now, and they all had to do their best to kill whatever came for them before they themselves got killed instead.

     It was when Derek came home from a supply run about two months after Stiles and Scott had joined his group that everything changed. He dropped his duffel-bag by the door and walked purposefully across the floor past the staircase and into the open living room, his expression terse as always. Stiles was lying sprawled on the couch, one leg resting up on the back of it, the other dangling towards the floor, his hands folded behind his head. When Derek entered he turned his head, eyebrows raised.  
     "Get 'nything good?"  
Derek didn't reply, head turned towards the hallway as Erica and Isaac joined them, having come downstairs at the sound of Derek returning. Boyd and Scott were out hunting, and Allison was sat on the floor in the corner of the room, reading a book.  
     "We need to leave." Derek said, his brows so furrowed they almost met.  
Allison looked up from her book, confused.  
     "Leave? What do you mean?"  
     "Look, you all know it as well as I do. The town's abandoned. Dead. All of Beacon Hills is completely deserted. We won't survive if we stay here." He looked around at all of them. "Think about it! We haven't seen people other than zombies in  _weeks,_  we have to drive to the towns next over for supplies - there's nothing left here for us."  
     Isaac stepped forward, constantly quirked eyebrow rising a little. "Then... what do we do?"  
     "Didn't you hear him?" Stiles interrupted, " _We need to leave._ " he imitated Derek's tone, mocking his serious expression. "And where exactly do you suggest we go, huh? What makes you think everywhere else isn't just as fucking barren and zombified as here?" He sat up a little in the couch, frustrated.  
     "Los Angeles." Derek said, like it was obvious.  
Stiles almost choked on the surprised laugh that was making its way up his throat.  
     "Yeah, yeah - let's pack our stuff and head to freaking  _L.A._ , kids! It'll be great! If you behave, maybe we can even go to  _Disneyland_!" He sort of yelled the last word, trying to emphasize how stupid he thought Derek's idea was.  
     "I'm serious, Stiles," Derek spit his name out like it was something filthy. "We can't stay here; and in a bigger city with a larger population, the chance of finding other survivors is way higher. You need to trust me on this."  
     Stiles scoffed. " _Trust_  a former drug dealer who lives in a creepy burnt-down house in the middle of the forest along with a bunch of teenagers? I think I'll pass." He argued, yet deep down he knew that Derek's plan was one of their only options. No way was he admitting it, though. Like, ever. Even to himself.  
     "Can you two just can it for, like, half a fucking second?" Erica rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and turning to give Stiles a look. A few seconds passed. Then a few more. Erica was relentless.  
     " _Fine_ ," Stiles yielded, throwing his palms up defensively. "But when we die roadside on a highway somewhere between Glenn County and Fresno, I'm gonna say 'I told you so'."

     Out of all of them, Erica was the one who'd been the most changed by this whole ting, Stiles thought. When they'd found her she'd been running about the forest, scared out of her mind. She hadn't said much the first few weeks, instead spending her time sitting shivering in a corner, but as time passed and they eased her into their ways, she changed. Derek showed her how to use their weapons and how to kill zombies, and when they took her out and she proved to be  _pretty freaking good_  at killing zombies, her confidence grew. If Stiles had met both this Erica and past Erica in the same day, he wouldn't even have believed them to be the same person.  
     Isaac had been the one to find  _them_ , after escaping from and killing his own father, who one day - in addition to beating him up and locking him in the basement (which he usually did) - had tried to eat him.  
     Boyd and Allison were already with Derek when Scott and Stiles arrived, so how they'd gotten there, Stiles couldn't be sure. They made an odd group, but somehow they worked together, and if they had made it this far, who was to say that they couldn't make it to Los Angeles as well?

     When Scott and Boyd came back later that night, empty-handed, they all sat down and discussed what they were gonna do. They all fit into the cars, with one spot to spare, even, so that was no problem, but the trunk on Derek's car was small, and they had to have room for all their weapons, clothes, life essentials, food, water, and cans of gas.  
     "We have to bring a lot." Stiles said, frowning a little. "Like, the cars have to be packed to the brim. Who knows how long it'll take before we stumble across more supplies? And what kind of supplies we'll find?"  
     "Stiles is right." Derek said, looking around the group. "Tomorrow three or four of us will go out on a larger supply run, and we'll spend the day getting ready. We leave at dawn the next day." They all nodded, a weird mood hanging over them.  
     "I'll go." Scott said, making eye-contact with Derek. "On the supply run."  
     "Yeah, me too." Allison chimed in, and Scott smiled at her. He looked giddy, like a little kid. Stiles snorted.  
     "Alright. Anyone else?" Derek said, waiting.  
     "Sure, I'll do it." Erica said, and Derek nodded. "Good, then we're set. Get some sleep if you can; you're going to want to be rested. The next thirty-six hours will be important." He stood up, leaving them all on the living-room floor as he headed upstairs for the night. Stiles stretched, a strained noise escaping him as he did.  
     "Well then," He grimaced a little. "Disneyland, here we come."

     A sharp light in Stiles' face woke him up from his slumber the next morning, forcing him to throw a hand over his face. He groaned and sat up, still kind of disoriented, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Sunlight was streaming in through the murky window, illuminating a strip of dust motes that were floating through the air in the room. The ray of bright sun landed exactly where Stiles' face had just been. He turned around, opening his mouth to say something, but Scott's mattress by the opposite wall of the room was empty.  _How long have I slept?_  Stiles got up and pulled his jeans on, fumbling through his pile of shirts for whichever one was the least dirty.  
     Stiles really hated these kinds of days. Days where the sky was clear and the sun shone down on the remains of Beacon Hills like everything was still the same as ever. Like everything there wasn't dead and broken and ravaged; like if you went into town you would see bright colors and open stores and cafes and children and happy people, instead of rubble and burnt bits of what used to be there, three corpses and a rabid soccer mom with stringy bits of red flesh dribbling out of her mouth. It was depressing.  
     He found Isaac and Boyd in the living room, standing around all the stuff they'd had spread around the house gathered in a pile in the middle of the floor. They both looked up when he entered.  
     "Good, you're up. Get over here, we need your help." Isaac nodded at the pile, his expression thoughtful.  
     "Time is it?" Stiles said, stretching a little as he walked towards them.  
     "'Bout one, I think." Boyd was watching him with that weird, knowing look he had, and it made Stiles uncomfortable. He stepped over a box of dried meat to join them, looking down on the pile of their things.  
     "Why didn't anyone wake me?" Stiles rubbed at his neck, yawning.  
     "Derek said we needed to rest as best we could. So - better to wake up naturally than to go around being groggy and semi-tired all day." Isaac shrugged, but Stiles still frowned because all of them had woken up before him. Assholes.

     Sorting through the pile of things they had and deciding what to bring and what not to bring was a massive pain in the ass, Stiles had decided after about twenty minutes of sorting. After ninety minutes of sorting, he wished he had stayed in bed; and after two hours he was looking for a way to end his misery.  
     The rest of the group came back about fifteen minutes after Stiles, Boyd and Isaac were done, and added new things to their  _stuff to bring_ -pile; things they'd gotten on the supply run. They loaded the two cars with their supplies, and the time and effort they'd put into sorting proved useful, as they were able to fit everything in on the first try. They had decided that each person was allowed to bring one backpack or small bag if they wanted to, filled with clothes, stuff like toothbrushes or makeup, and things that held personal value, but said bag or backpack had to be kept on the floor between the person's legs in the car. Stiles brought clothes and his toothbrush and razor, along with his dad's badge. It was the only thing he'd claimed that was his father's. Well. Claimed and claimed - he'd stolen it. Still wasn't sure why he'd done it, when there was so much else he could have (legally) taken - but he kept it close.  
     Everyone else had packed a personal bag as well, even Derek, though Stiles suspected his only held clothes and weapons. Stiles had the first driving shift, since the Jeep was his. Scott, Allison and Isaac were in there with him. Boyd and Erica rode in the Camaro with Derek. Leaving Beacon Hills seemed surprisingly little final; more like going on a weekend-trip somewhere than actually going away forever and never coming back. Then again, there wasn't much to leave - the city was just a shell, and Stiles didn't feel anything other than apathy and a weird, creeping feeling in his stomach when he looked back at it in his rear-view mirror.  
     "Feels kinda weird, doesn't it?" Scott was riding shotgun, his head turned to look out the window, forehead pressed to the glass.  
     "Yeah." Stiles kept his eyes on the road in front of them. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long, and sorry that it sucks as well. I'll try to finish this whole thing as soon as I can. Also I forgot to say earlier: no Jackson or Lydia in this fic - they moved to England together.

_He knew it wasn't real because his family was there. His parents. It was nothing special, just a floating image of his dad in his uniform by the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing; his mom sat by the kitchen table with her tea and breakfast, dark hair tumbling about her shoulders, long and unbrushed and messy from sleep. Stiles was running barefoot across the wooden floor, warm where it had been lit by the morning sun through the window, cold in the shadows. The TV was set to Saturday morning cartoons in the living room, the exaggerated noises leaking through the open doorway..._

  
     "Holy. Shit."  
Scott's quiet voice had Stiles furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. Then, the Jeep halted with the smallest jerk as Scott pushed down on the break, and Stiles was fully awake. By the look of the sun, it was about midday, meaning he'd slept for a few hours, which was more than he had expected.  
     "We're not gonna get around that." Allison's voice came calm and rational as ever from the front seat, and Stiles rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "We're gonna have to go back."  
     "No freaking way." Stiles' voice was rough with sleep, and he groaned, clearing his throat. "Whose brilliant idea was the highway, again?" The road in front of them was completely blocked, a mess of (from what Stiles could tell, over fifty) cars and various debris littering the wide strip of asphalt guard rail to guard rail. The doors on the Camaro in front of them opened, and Derek, Erica and Boyd stepped out, sawed-off rifles and bags in hands. Scott and Allison exchanged looks in the front seat, turning back quickly to Isaac and Stiles, and they all nodded, following the rest of their little group's lead.  
     The heat outside the car was heavy and stagnant, the sun merciless on the clear blue sky, and Stiles missed the air-condition the second he opened the car door and put his feet on the asphalt.  
     "Take the supplies you can carry," Derek's voice sounded before they'd had the chance to approach. "We'll walk into town." Stiles could see Sacramento ahead, abandoned skyscrapers stretching towards the sky seemingly undisturbed by the desolate city around them. It was a long way, but going back was longer still. They fetched their bags, weapons and water, and began their climb over metal so hot you could nearly fry eggs on it.  
     Somewhere in the first few meters of progress, Stiles turned to look back at his battered Jeep, parked in the middle of the road behind Derek's sleek black Camaro, which was glinting in the sun. He'd gotten it for his sixteenth birthday, and though it was a total piece of crap, he'd come to love it over the past two and a half years. It had a certain charm. Stiles shook himself, turning away to pay attention to where he was putting his feet. He didn't have time for nostalgia; he'd parted with and lost enough things that he knew it was no good, especially when he needed to focus on staying alive himself. The wreckage they were treading on was unsteady at best, and most steps had to be tested before they could put their weight onto it, each movement slow and wary.  
     Stiles almost fell when he heard a scream and a bang of body against metal behind him and tried whirling around, shotgun aimed at the source of the noise.  
     " _Erica!_ " Boyd had been at the front of their group with Derek, but was now bounding towards the blonde girl who had made up the rear with Isaac, currently lying on her back on top of a car, trying to tug her leg away from a zombie who appeared to be stuck between her car and the next one, almost cut in half, but grasping at her, still. Stiles was frozen. Erica got in a good kick to the zombie's face, and what appeared to have been a middle-aged man yelled out in anger right before she shot him. Then, just as she was standing up, another shout came from Boyd, who had stopped once the apparent danger had been averted. "Behind you!" And there really _was_ another one crawling up behind her, though thanks to Boyd's warning, she caught it in time.  
     The momentary crisis had distracted everyone from what was happening around them, so it wasn't until he heard a disgusting gurgling sound right by his feet that Stiles noticed what was going on. The zombies weren't just crawling up from inside and under the cars where  _Erica_  was standing - they were crawling up from  _everywhere_ , and their group was surrounded.  
     It was almost like every other noise disappeared for a moment, and all he could hear for a while that seemed like both an eternity and the blink of an eye was the very reminder that he was alive and soft, fragile and very, very much mortal.  _His heartbeat_. In the moments after, the sound he remembered breaking the silence before sharp explosions of gunfire and the hollow bangs of feet on roofs was a desperate yell that sent chills down his spine, jolting through him like an electric current, finally setting him into motion.  
     " ** _Run!_** "

     His gun was hot when Stiles dropped it on the ground next to where he'd sat down, wiping blood from his forehead while he tried to regain his breath and balance. If only everything would stop _spinning_.  
     "Let's all agree to never do that again, yeah?"  
Scott raised his eyebrows and nodded; everyone else was quiet.  
     Once they'd gotten past the barrier of cars and junk that apparently had been a fucking zombie minefield, it'd been easier to shoot down their undead attackers. They'd formed a line, blowing the head off of any corpse who dared come close, and many chunks of flesh and brain-matter and empty bullet casings later, it was quiet again. Stiles had a cut on his forehead, and Allison had ripped her jeans and scraped her knees, but other than that, there was no notable damage.  
     "It got me." The words came quiet, and Stiles almost didn't even dare to look up, shifting his eyes from the red bite-mark on Erica's ankle to her face.  
     "Erica..." Boyd neared her, reaching for her shoulder. Allison had covered her mouth with her hand. The others were looking on. They all knew what a bite meant. What had to happen next.  
     "Shut up." Erica didn't look at any of them, sliding her black handgun from the holster at her side.  
Someone tried again, Derek this time.  
     "Erica-"  
     "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up," tears were running down her cheeks, blonde curls falling in front of her face as she tilted her head down, a sob escaping her, then another. Then, her shoulders moved as she took a deep breath, raising her head with the muzzle of her gun pointed up against the underside of her chin.   
     Stiles closed his eyes when she pulled the trigger, something warm and salty running down his cheek, which he wiped away with the back of his hand.

     As little as any of them wanted to leave Erica's body in the middle of the road to join the horde of car-dwelling savage cannibals, they all knew it was a risk to touch her, and so, to keep everyone safe, they had been forced to walk away. Stiles had argued that it was what she would've wanted, anyway, for them to move on, and sooner rather than later, they had.  
     The remaining walk into the city of Sacramento was monotonous and silent, like the city itself when the buildings started closing in around them, broken and empty. A run-down shell more than anything.  
     "It's a total ghost town." Allison said, eyes roaming their surroundings. She was holding Scott's hand. How long had they been walking like that? Not that it mattered; comfort in what little ways possible was good. Stiles himself had a feeling they were interrupting something, coming into the city, and like that something was watching them from places they couldn't see. It was giving him goosebumps. He tightened his grip on his gun.  
     "We need to find a place to stay for the night." Derek was always giving orders. Fucking always. Like everyone didn't already  _know_  they needed a goddamn place to stay. They needed new cars, too, and provisions. Stiles didn't mention it.

     The sun was creeping down towards the horizon by the time they found a decent place, the sky turning orange, the shadows growing longer in the streets of the abandoned city. The old antiques shop they'd stumbled upon had obviously been used as a shelter by other survivors before; the windows were all boarded, and there was a space cleared in the back with black marks on the floor where they'd used old furniture to make a fire. At least there was proof of other people. But were they still alive? And where had they gone?  
     All the provisions they'd brought with them from the cars was canned stuff that both looked and tasted like cat food, but none of them had eaten all day, so it went down quickly, despite it being cold and gross. The upsides of the antiques shop was that there were pillows and cushioned chairs and couches everywhere, so at the very least, they could get a comfortable night's sleep for once. And he did sleep well, up until Isaac shot a drifter sometime in the middle of the night, on his watch. After that, Stiles was too unnerved to get more sleep than a few minutes at the time, having confirmed his suspicions that they were far from alone. When Isaac was done, he offered to take the next watch, though it was originally supposed to be Allison's. Whatever; if he couldn't sleep in the first place, he might as well make himself useful. No need to rob anyone else of their shut-eye. So, sat there in the dark doorway, Stiles couldn't help but wonder whether it was the same everywhere. What were they  _really_  heading towards? He didn't even want to think about it, so he cleared his mind, laid his gun in his lap and watched. Waited.  
     Minute by slow minute, the sky took to brightening again, and the group stirred as they woke to another day, Stiles getting up and stretching, a bit cramped from having sat in the same position for so long. At least he hadn't seen any more zombies. The dead girl Isaac had shot was still lying in a pile across the street. Stiles averted his eyes.  
     "We need food." Scott said, voicing Stiles' thoughts from earlier. "And who knows how to hot-wire a car?"  
Everyone looked at Derek. Derek raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.  
     "Great. We'll split up and meet back here as soon as possible."  
     "We shouldn't split up." Allison glanced at Scott, concerned, but he smiled at her. "It'll be faster that way."  
Stiles saw his cue.  
     " _Okaaaay_ , lovebirds. Why don't I go with you two to get food, aaand Mr. Broody McCriminal over there can take Boyd and Isaac to steal cars. Yes?" He threw his arms out to his sides for a second, then clasped them together with a loud clap, going over to fetch his gun. "Fantastic, let's go."  
     The look he got from Derek when he patted him on the shoulder as he walked by was priceless.

     "You know," Stiles began as he headed down the middle of a broad street, Scott and Allison on his right, looking for potential stores to raid. "It'd save us a hell of a lot of trouble if we could just, like, barbecue zombies to eat instead. Give 'em a taste of their own medicine." Getting food was a hassle, and they were close to losing all the stuff that had an expiration date, which was pretty much everything. "I mean, we sure do see and _kill_  enough of the little slobbery fuckers."  
Scott looked at Stiles like he'd just puked up a turd and presented it as a gift to him.  
     "What?" Stiles feigned offense. "Just a thought. We wouldn't have to be risking our lives running around in stores all the time."  
Allison shook her head, but the tiniest smile was tugging the corners of her lips upwards, and that was enough for him.  
     "A little zombie gourmet could be exciting. I mean, with all the shit they've eaten, it'd be like a freaking turducken!"  
She laughed this time, and Scott was smiling, too, albeit rolling his eyes.

     They were the first ones back at the antiques shop about an hour and a half later, sitting down to eat a whole bunch of sweets they'd nicked just because they could. Chocolate, potato chips, licorice - things they hadn't had the luxury of eating in ages. They laughed and gorged themselves, forgetting where they were and who they were and everything that had happened and why, and if Stiles was honest, that afternoon was one of the best ones he'd had in a long while. Though, just the same - although he was unaware of it - also one of the best ones he'd have in the time coming. When the second half of their group returned, Isaac was eager to join in, but Boyd, who had been closer to Erica than any of the rest of them, reminded everyone of their grief, and Derek was broody as ever, so soon after, they packed up, loaded into the two cars they'd gotten and took off, with hopes that the next city might be better.


End file.
